


Under the Jacarandas

by DerpyMcButtface



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Lovers To Enemies, M/M, Pre-Canon, Second Chance, Young Hanzo, Young McCree, dumb kids being dumb, old flame, old grudge, young immature up and coming hanzo, young immature up and coming mccree
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-01
Updated: 2016-08-16
Packaged: 2018-07-28 18:23:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,810
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7651936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DerpyMcButtface/pseuds/DerpyMcButtface
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Young McHanzo</p><p>In the year 2061, while negotiating a business deal with the Deadlock Gang, twenty-one year old Hanzo Shimada falls head over heels in love with the cowboy who serenades him from under the penthouse window.</p><p>In the year 2076, while returning to the reformed Overwatch, thirty-seven year old Jesse McCree re-encounters the old flame from years ago, the assassin with whom he shares enough bad blood to shake the group to its core.</p><p>What’s done is done, but the future is still up for grabs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

_Present, 2076 AD_

_We’re squatters in our own home._

From the shell of the abandoned hangar, Jesse McCree watched the stormy ocean crashing on cliff below. Around his feet, the rain that blew in through the shredded ceiling panels collected in dark gray puddles. It was a strange silent world, buffeted by sound of the wind and the rain.

The gunslinger suppressed a shiver. The last he had seen of this base, he had been in the back seat of a Seabird-607, listening to the pilot cursing at the constant flux of aircraft taxiing around them. He remembered how the loading dock behind him bubbled over with the squeak of wheels and the the low throbbing hum of engines, the blur of blinking lights and people and carts bursting in from every direction. Yes, he remembered Watchpoint Gibraltar, and if he squinted, he could make out the base underneath the sagging, dusty mess of hallways it had become.

“Jesse McCree!” a large, low voice boomed from a half-opened garage door behind him.

Jesse turned around. The fading sun didn’t make it through the heavy belly of storm clouds, leaving the building in a sort of dim, brown twilight. Still, the massive silhouette of the German soldier, even without his armor, was unmistakable in the hallway. Not that there was anyone else around to mistake him with, anyways. “Reinhardt.” He greeted the old man with a forced smile. “Howdy.”

Reinhardt put his hands on his hips and let out a whistle. “Ho! It’s a bit of a mess out here. Greetings to you too, Jesse McCree! Is this not the most exciting thing to happen! Just like old days! …A bit quiet, but do not worry, we will be shaping up in no time!” The giant gave out a wide and toothy grin.

The German knight’s enthusiasm seemed jarringly out of place amongst the empty lightbulb sockets and the dark display screens. McCree nodded mutely, unable to raise the same eagerness as the old veteran. Either way, it’d be inappropriate coming from an ex-Blackwatch agent. His gaze lingered on the floor, tracing the obscenely bright yellow lines painted all over the cement.

The older man mistook McCree’s silence for a sulk. “Oh, you young thing. Lena has just arrived, and Genji Shimada is on his way today! Some kids your age! You won’t be stuck with just us old men!” Reinhardt chuckled.

 _Shimada._ The years had tumbled by, but that name never left McCree on his long sleepless nights. Now, it ripped raw through him, ricocheting in the hollow of his chest. McCree lit up a cigar, but didn’t bring it to his lips. Instead, he watched the soft orange embers glowing in their paper nest. Unbidden, the suggestion of dark eyes and silk rose up in his mind. Shimada. _Shimada_. It wasn’t Genji that bled through his thoughts, but another man who bore the same name. Those three syllables, their owner long gone- and good riddance to the bastard. He’d heard there were confinement centers in the world that were worse than death. If that were true, he dearly hoped that Shimada was burning in one of them. Even if Jesse couldn’t be the one to put a bullet through the scumbag’s head, maybe someone else would.

Seeing McCree’s distant expression, Reinhardt clapped his shoulder hard. “I heard he’s bringing back a new agent…!” he cajoled.

“Really,” the cowboy said, trying to push away the familiar upwelling with the matter at hand. “Who?”

“Oh, I know not. It must a big deal, though. Top secret for everyone’s safety- Jack won’t even tell his oldest friend Reinhardt!” he guffawed good-naturedly.

“Well. Ain’t that something to look forward to,” McCree said. But even the prospect of a new comrade did not excite him as much as it should have. Surrounded by rain and rubbish on one side and collapsed barbed wire on the other, it was hard to summon up any of the hope Overwatch was supposed to have stood for. He nodded politely at Reinhardt as he made his way back to the open hallway. “Seeya around.”

 

  
_Past: 2061 AD_

 

“But should you disappoint us, know this well: the Shimada clan will not tolerate your failure,” Hanzo intoned sternly, his eyelids lowering in a cold, stern gaze.

The bathroom mirror didn’t respond, of course. Hanzo leaned further forward across the sink, trying to stare himself in the eyes. “But should you disappoint us, know that- kuso-“ His elbow hit his shaving cream and sent the bottle clattering into the sink bowl. He gingerly fished it out between thumb and forefinger, looked back up to the mirror, and sighed despairingly.

Maybe he should have kept the mustache. Sadly, it wasn’t quite the full brush that his father sported- but surely wasn’t the pathetic smudge Genji made it out to be either! A shot of anger flashed through Hanzo as he remembered Genji’s taunt: “three little hairs and a maybe a freckle.” He looked back up at his reflection, wondering if keeping the sparse hairs would have made him look older. More angular. More worldly, and less like a jet-lagged twenty-one-year-old on his first time working out a business deal on his own.

Hanzo’s stomach clenched nervously, and his throat tightened with acid. It wasn’t an important trade deal by any means. Just a distribution contract with some small-fry ring called the Deadlock Gang. But it still was a test for an untried heir. He knew why he had been sent to Las Colinas, California. The outcome was not the main concern: his performance was. His father and the elders were watching. Disappointing the former would be devastating, but disappointing the latter would be disastrous. Hanzo inhaled slowly, closed his eyes, and shoved his deodorant into his armpit, applying furiously. After a moment of thought, he rubbed the stick onto his back as well.

There was a polite knock on the door outside.

“Who is it?” Hanzo called out, guiltily shoving the deodorant stick away.

“Shiro, sir.” His personal aide’s familiar voice sounded from the hallway outside.

“Come in,” Hanzo said forcefully, quickly pulling his undershirt on before he stepped into the main bedroom. “What do you have to report?”

There was a beep and a click as Shiro unlocked the door. The omnic entered, bowing low. The omnic was the only one afforded the privilege of the key card to Hanzo’s room. Unlike the other staff, Shiro was his aide, with his loyalties owed to Hanzo and not the Shimada Clan as a whole. “Sir. Atsuko is manning the listening devices in the Deadlocks’ rooms. She reports that they do not speak of anything of note, aside from that someone named Jesse is late again and possibly lost in a strip club. The transcripts so far are available for your review.”

The Corta Duna Resort had been selected for the negotiations as neutral territory for both groups. Sure, no one had mentioned to the Deadlocks the listening devices built into the walls, but it wasn’t quite a lie- the gangsters just never happened to ask if the Preston Hospitality Group was owned by the Shimadas. “I see.” Hanzo turned away and looked out the wide French windows at the landscape outside. Clear blue desert sky stretched out to the horizon, above an expanse of carefully cultivated succulents and terraces. It was off-season. Most of the hotel was empty, but Hanzo’s sharp eyes could still make out a few guests about the gardens, probably wealthy retirees wanting to buy into the back-to-nature fad without forgoing all the creature comforts that civilization afforded.

“Are you ready to enter the conference room, sir?” Shiro asked.

Hanzo glanced at his distorted reflection on a doorknob. Perhaps he should pin his bangs back- on one hand, they made his face look longer, which hopefully made him look older, but on the other hand, maybe the way the hid his eyes made him look less forward? “Shiro, does my face look…” Hanzo’s voice trailed off, trying to find a dignified way to ask if he looked like a half-plucked teenager.

“Your face, sir?” Shiro asked, confused.

“Nevermind." Hanzo buttoned up his dress shirt. “Let us go.”

Dutifully, Shiro held out a blazer and slipped it onto the young heir’s waiting arms. “Young master,” he said slowly.

Hanzo flinched. Shiro only addressed him so formally before he was about to tell him something requiring tact. “Speak.”

“Performing well under pressure is a valuable but learned skill.”

“You are telling me to calm down?” Hanzo snapped.

Shiro bowed his head slightly. “It is only an observation, sir. And.. Perhaps you would like for me to fetch some antiperspirant-“

“That will not be necessary,” Hanzo said sharply. “Thank you. Now, _let us go._ ”

 

* * *

 

The leather chair had been adjusted perfectly to his height, so Hanzo gave the handle two pumps, lifting the seat a bit higher. His head of security gave him an odd look, but Hanzo stared back defiantly. Let him dismiss the power of an extra three inches. He was only security, not business. “I am situated. Hiramatsu, welcome our guests in.”

The three Deadlock representatives filed into the room on the opposite side of the conference table. According to the files, the gray-haired woman with a face like a hatchet was Octaviana, no last name. She was fourth in the chain of command of the Deadlock Gang, with the power to make binding decisions for the group. The hulking, tattooed man behind her was Nigel “El Bruto” Saifo. Hanzo didn’t recall him to be of any high rank or special rights, save for his seniority in the gang and his prowess as an enforcer and bodyguard. It was probably the latter role he was filling in for here. The third member of the mismatched party was a cowboy.

Hanzo blinked quickly, wondering if it was a trick of the light. But no, there he was. A cowboy, complete with the wide-brimmed hat and the kerchief, strutting around in his boots like he had just robbed a stagecoach. _Why is there a cowboy here?_ Hanzo’s mind whirled. Was this some kind of ploy, to come in strong on the negotiations? Was he supposed to be a distraction? A reminder that they were on the Deadlock’s turf? He jerked his eyes away as he extended his hand to greet Octaviana. Before he could introduce himself though, the old woman spoke.

“The name’s Octaviana. A pleasure to meet you,” she said, her thin lips drawn over her teeth in a gimlet smile. She extended a palm. “Is this a change of plans? Thought we were going to meet with your older brother.”

Hanzo smiled coldly, positive that the slight on his youth and inexperience was was intentional. He carefully “No, Octaviana. I am Hanzo Shimada. I apologize for the modest accommodations. I hope you and your men find them adequate.”

Instead of the expected effusive thanks, Octaviana just shrugged. “We take what’s given to us,” she replied as the Shimadas weren’t putting her and her two underlings up at a luxury resort. “My boys. This is El Bruto. This is Jesse McCree.”

Hanzo nodded in their direction, but did not greet them. The cowboy, whoever, had different plans.

“Howdy, Hanzo!” Jesse McCree called out, swinging his arm out to grab Hanzo’s shoulder, as if greeting a friend. Before he could reach Hanzo though, Octaviana grabbed McCree by the shoulder and jerked him back. The young man fought her, barreling a few paces forward, but Hanzo had already treaded a pace back, out of McCree’s reach. “…Hey,” the cowboy said sheepishly.

Hanzo ignored him in favor of sizing up the old woman. They looked at each other, Octaviana defiant and Hanzo smug: he knew she did not have her subordinate under control.

Octaviana recovered, scowling. She gave Jesse a warning look, before turning her attention back to Hanzo and motioning to the table. “Shall we?”

He looked at her coolly, pretending to think for a moment. “Yes, I would like to begin the negotiations,” he said, attempting to yank control back from the old woman.

They had barely sat down when Octaviana began speaking. El Bruto stood behind her, arms crossed, confirming Hanzo’s earlier suspicion, while Jesse sat nearby. The cowboy’s eyes were still pinned on Hanzo, and his mouth gaped in a foolish half-grin. “The Deadlock Gang is your best option for working in the Americas,” she stated.

“That is something you have to prove,” Hanzo replied coldly, trying to ignore Jesse McCree’s stupid expression. What kind of intimidation tactic was it supposed to be, anyways? “I believe you wanted one day allotted for that?”

“I did. Will you need a day too?”

Hanzo regarded Octaviana. What a strange match-up this was turning out to be, the young man in a Ciccio suit surrounded by his staff, and the wizened lady in a worn, thready blazer, with nothing but her brute and her ridiculous cowboy. “I do not think the Shimada Clan needs an introduction,” he said, pushing down his unease. “You know who we are. You know what we offer. You know what we want. I thought we came here to hear you out as to why the Shimada Clan should trust such a small group as the Deadlock Gang with our investment.”

“Well, don’t you get right to the facts of it?” Octaviana commented. “But Mr. Shimada, you are right on all points.” She slid a flat projector to the middle of the table. A holographic map bloomed in the air, depicting the southern border of the United States. Colored lines snaked across the map, and major loading and storage sites flickered into view. “These are the routes we control, in the US and across the border. But first, I would like to go over our facilities. We have a total of forty-two warehouses with an average size of 37,000 square feet, with our largest warehouse in Birce standing at 115,000 square feet. Most of these are at least partially underground, and all are fortified and manned 24/7 whenever they hold an active shipment.”

As he listened to Octaviana, Hanzo gradually became aware of someone’s eyes on him. He glanced around discreetly, pretending to scan the projected map, looking for the source of the heated stare. It was the cowboy again. Even in the darkness, Hanzo could feel the stranger’s gaze studying him, intent and inquisitive. Hanzo deliberately made eye contact, scowling.

Instead of looking away, the man grinned and winked at him. He _winked._

“-So I believe that they do meet the specifications for what- something the matter, Mr. Shimada?” Octaviana asked as Hanzo suddenly scowled, fingers curling in anger.

“I-I am fine,” Hanzo insisted, his concentration broken. “I am fine. Please continue.”

“Sat on a pin, son?”

“No.” He shook his head, not noticing her slight in his agitation. “Please continue.”

“All right. Our storage facilities meet the requirements for holding the cargo you described. In addition, we can also split up the load- this may actually be required at some points in transit but I will cover that later. Now if you look at the map, I’ve highlighted some of our major transit routes, with the distribution of storehouses along each of them…”

Hanzo nodded, carefully keeping his expression cool even as he recalled the little intel he had about Jesse McCree. _The guy who got lost in a_ _strip club._ His sources had no details on him, other than that he was already making a name for himself as one of the gang’s most dangerous members. _Always late, got lost in a strip club?_ His presence here could denote either that Octaviana thought herself in danger, or that McCree was being groomed for leadership. _Strip club._ Hanzo tried to focus on tying the information to his method of negotiation, but only ended up with the strangest mental images for his trouble. “Before we go into station details, I would like to know more about the transit routes. That is of primary importance.”

“I can understand that. Going back to the map, the yellow lines are the routes most relevant to your needs.”

Hanzo tried to ignore the sensation of Jesse McCree’s eyes on him. He was no stranger to being observed. Throughout his life, he had always been watched carefully for any show of character or mark of weakness. But this felt different, more like he was on a dinner plate rather than under a microscope. Hanzo tried to ignore the feeling of being devoured as the talk went on. “We trust your expertise on your territory, but I do not foresee the need to enter the Gulf of California,” he stated, trying to focus on the map.

“But we do have routes there, if we need it.”

“All right. And referring back to the route passing through Cupo Mesa, how much cargo can it accommodate safely?” Hanzo asked.

“Four units at any one time,” Octaviana said. “Moving onto the Vallejo Route…”

Hanzo shifted in his seat, carefully focusing his attention on only Octaviana and the slides in front of him. But in the darkness, the cowboy’s eyes hovered over him for the rest of the meeting.

 

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

_Present, 2076 AD_

 

“Let’s face it, folks. I know it’s not a priority for most of you, but… Your professionalism is a cause for concern,” ex-Commander Morrison said with the tone of someone describing an imminent nuclear crisis. “The new guy’s coming in. Watch yourselves. No one make a bad first impression,” Soldier 76 barked. “We’ve been courting this guy to Overwatch for over a year. Don’t undo all our work.”

“Ooo, courting!” Tracer laughed. “Don’t worry gramps, we’ll be perfect little-“

“ _Especially_ you, Lena. He’s no chatty Cathy and even less of a people person. Respect his space,” he warned. “Winston, no-“

“No hugging,” the gorilla sighed.

“Reinhardt?”

“Inside voice,” the German said in a dramatically hushed tone.

“McCree?”

“Act like I’m literally anyone else,” he grunted.

“And Mercy,”

“I’m perfect the way I am,” Angela said serenely.

“Correct.” Jack gave her a thumbs up, but glared at the rest of the room. “I’m going to the helipad to meet him and Genji. No one has permission to leave.”

“This guy sounds like a riot,” Jesse snorted as their leader disappeared out the door, earning him a laugh from the British woman.

“Guess he had to make sure we’re not having too much fun!” Lena giggled, winking back two feet away to grab some cups from the cabinet.

Reinhardt set down another pot of coffee as they waited. Jesse gave a grunt of thanks and poured himself a mug. He didn’t need the caffeine right now, but there was something about a warm drink that he felt like enjoying.

A while later, Morrison’s heavy footfalls announced his return. The old soldier pushed in through the kitchen door, backlit by Genji’s green lights. The third member of their party followed them in, blinking in the sudden brightness. He was a man around McCree’s age, his hair in a high ponytail tied with a flowing yellow ribbon. Beneath his dark clothing, his shoulders were wide and thickly muscled, a broad iron fan over his compact body. But it was the sight of the blue dragon tattoo that shook McCree’s hand on his coffee mug. _That tattoo looks way too familiar-_

“Hello everyone!” McCree’s thoughts were interrupted as Genji appeared, giving a friendly wave, “I’m back! And this is my older brother, Shimada-”

McCree went cold. All his blood suddenly fled to his heart, leaving him dizzy and shaking. _No way. No way in hell._ It was those eyes. Those damned dark eyes. Jesse could give some recognition to the man in front of him, the way Hanzo Shimada had grown into the two decades since their falling out. But he couldn’t break out of those eyes.

“Hanzo,” Jesse blurted, his heart shaking in his throat. The pain and the loss from years ago tore raw through him, as harsh as they had been on that day. The fury and sadness- it was visceral, the way his guts knotted and snaked inside of him and how acid rose up his throat to his eyes.

Hanzo jerked liked he had been stabbed. Those dark eyes zeroed in on the cowboy, ablaze with loathing. He opened his mouth; he _howled._

Jesse lunged, boots skidding off the table. Hanzo brought his fists up just in time to block Jesse’s wild swing, but toppled back when cowboy threw his whole weight forward. They toppled to the ground, Hanzo falling shoulder-first with a grunt. Jesse scrambled to his knees. He punched, fast and sharp. Crack. He snarled at the satisfying impact- no, more- he wound his arm back again. But Hanzo rushed forward, fluid and harsh, and a palm strike shoved Jesse askew. A sudden lurch and the solid, crushing weight of knees on his chest- Jesse coughed, striking out blindly and wildly, as hard fists pummeled his head, side to side, hot blood waterfalling from his nose, clawing just to maim, scar, slash the other man, to sink his nails into skin and rip, hear him scream, before a force hauled him back, onto his rear, skidding a yard away from Hanzo.

The cowboy blinked. Slowly, the rest of the room bubbled into focus again.

“-against orders and all common sense, dumb punk! I didn’t expect that out of even you-“ Morrison roared at him, an elbow locked firmly around McCree’s neck.

His heart still hammering acid through his veins, McCree struggled. Hanzo was right there- in front of him, and more than anything, more than his dignity or the way his head throbbed, he wanted Hanzo to _hurt._

The cold fury in Hanzo’s eyes as Genji held him back reflected the sentiment right back at McCree. Slowly, the younger brother rose, supporting his sibling on a shoulder. He was speaking quickly, in rapid-fire Japanese, his tone almost pleading. But Hanzo’s glare, his focus, was on McCree alone.

“Goodness- settle- settle down,” Winston exclaimed, quickly knuckling between the two like a hairy barricade. The gorilla looked from Hanzo to McCree in confusion. “Can I ask… What was that?”

“I never should have come here,” the Hanzo spat, throwing Genji’s arm off his shoulders and sprinting back down the hallway to the helipad.

“Hey- Shimada-“ Soldier 76 called out in alarm.

“I will stop him,” Genji promised quietly, running after his brother.

“Don’t bother!” Jesse shouted, blood and saliva flinging off his lip with every panting breath.

Silence settled in the room, interrupted only by the splash of the sink and Mercy crumpling up clean paper towels for Jesse’s nose.

“Gosh! What was that about?” Tracer finally demanded, after a respectable silence, as Reinhardt opened his mouth to speak. “Did you guys… Know each other?”

“No. Nothing. Nothing,” Jesse spat. “Nothing.”

 

* * *

 

  
_Past: 2061 AD_

 

The second evening found Hanzo back in his room at his desk, fingers laced inches away from his nose.

He had hoped to get negotiations underway, but Octaviana needed another day to detail out what Deadlock brought to the table. In front of him, his notepad was filled with his shorthand on the specifics of the Deadlock operations, spilling out onto the pages he had reserved for working the actual deal. The rest of that space remained empty.

It would be almost five in the afternoon in Hanamura. His father and the elders would be expecting his call in less than an hour, to report what he had accomplished, what concessions he had squeezed out, that day. But thanks to Octaviana's blatant inefficiency, he had nothing to report that the council would be interested in hearing. His shoulders hunched as he thought of his great-uncle’s thin, reedy voice sneering, “Anything else?” The only one capable of brushing off Yurata Shimada’s disdain was Genji. Hanzo didn’t know how he did it.

Miserably, he wondered what his brother was doing right now. Hopefully studying. More likely wrestling in a pool of jello.

He peered at his notes again, trying to think of what to say during the video call. “As of now, I have mainly gathered intelligence on… As of now, I have focused on- I have not yet begun to negotiate. I am trying to figure out the position… As of now, I-“

Knock, knock, knock. Three polite taps on the door.

“Who is it?” Hanzo barked, trying to focus on his notes.

“Atsuko, sir.”

He swiveled around on his chair and pressed the release button for the door. “Enter.”

The young woman obeyed, bowing low. “One of the Deadlock representatives, Mr. McCree, is in the hallway. He requests to meet with you.”

The cowboy? “Tell him whatever matter he has can be sorted out at the meeting tomorrow.”

“Sir, he is very insistent,” Atsuko said guiltily. “I tried to tell him that. He’s not moving. He has been arguing for half an hour.”

The back of Hanzo’s neck prickled in interest- what could be so important, or such a sensitive matter, that the Deadlock member had to come around after hours and alone? Perhaps he is going behind Octaviana. Jesse was rising to leadership, after all- maybe he wanted to start a little early.

More practically, a meeting would be a good opportunity to skip reporting to the elders until he had more progress to offer. _Two birds with one stone._

“Call Hanamura,” he commanded. “Tell them that I am meeting further today with a representative, and that I do not yet know the matter or how long we will discuss it. I will give one large update about today and tomorrow, at our next scheduled call.”

“Yes, sir. And as for Mr. McCree?”

“Check him for weapons and bring him in.” Hanzo slipped his feet out of his white room slippers and shoved them into the nearest pair of dress shoes. Quickly, he got up and raised his chair a few inches, before sitting down again and folding his hands in his lap. He glanced at his blazer in the closet, but decided against it. His dress shirt was suitable enough. It wouldn’t do to look like he was actually trying to look professional for the Deadlocks. As a finishing touch, Hanzo grabbed yesterday’s newspaper from the rubbish bin and opened it, pretending to peruse the familiar headlines as the door opened again.

The cowboy was a good act. Hanzo admired the way McCree swaggered in, chest wide open and arms at his side- none of his body language gave any indication that he was holding onto secret plans, even to Hanzo’s well-trained eye. _Commendable._

“Evenin’, Mr. Shimada,” McCree drawled, grinning as he approached with a quiet jingling noise. Hanzo allowed himself a quick, surprised glance to confirm that yes, the dolt was indeed wearing spurs indoors.

“Good evening.” Hanzo said coolly, folding the newspaper and setting it aside. He wondered if he should offer McCree a drink. Would that make the situation more casual or more formal? “So. The matter that you wish to discuss with me,” he stated, lowering his voice slightly at the end as he tried to recall his father’s stern tone.

The cowboy peered at him. “The matter? What matter?”

Despite his impatience, Hanzo had to admit that McCree’s caution was justified. The cover of secrecy only lent an edge to his anticipation, though. “I assure you, the room is secure. Speak freely.”

“Good to know, Shimada. But what matter were y’talking about? There something up?”

Hanzo gave him a cold smile to hide his confusion, and stared McCree down, trying to organize his thoughts. The nagging suspicion that McCree’s carefree demeanor wasn’t just an act began pushing up in the back of his mind. “Why did you come here tonight?”

“I wanted to say greet you, proper. Never got a chance, so... Howdy..” He shifted uneasily before Hanzo’s eyes, perhaps having second thoughts about his intrusion. “Anyways, got bored in my room. What’s there to do around here anyways?”

 _A steadfast stream, flowing around the stones in its path. An unshakeable arrow, unmoved by gust and rain._ Hanzo recited the lines three times in his head before responding as his eyes continued staring McCree down out of habit. “Mr. McCree,” he said, trying to control his agitation. “You requested a private meeting with me after hours because you were bored?”

“Come on, we’re the only ones here under forty!” McCree complained.

Hanzo’s hands stiffened. “My age is not your concern. I am here to discuss a business agreement, McCree, and only that!” To his shame, the last sentence came out a little too loud. Hanzo tried to reign in his irritation. Father never lost his temper, not unless he meant to.

“Well, this right here ain’t business.”

“That’s why I’m telling you to leave.”

“Whoa, harsh,” the American protested, waving his hands.

“Unlike you, I am kept quite busy.” Hanzo tilted his chin up and looked down at McCree, summoning up as much disdain as he could on such short notice. He didn’t have time to play around with some- some  _kid_.

McCree stepped back with a wave of a hand. But instead of leaving, he sauntered over to the TV set in the wall and reached for the minibar below it.

Hanzo scowled, his eyes drifting to his emergency alert on the desk. He knew could throw the idiot down, no doubt, but it would look better if he called in his actual staff to do it. That way he could stare down condescendingly as the cowboy was manhandled out of the hotel. “What are you doing?”

“Having a drink with you, Shimada.” He held up a small bottle of the Wild Turkey the hotel stocked. He gave a mocking toast and popped off the cap. “It don’t matter how overpriced the minibar is if you guys own the place, eh?”

Hanzo stopped, his fingers just brushing the security button, his eyes darting back to his uninvited guest swallowing a gulp of whiskey. _He couldn’t mean…_ “Hmm?”

“Preston Hospitality Group,” McCree chuckled. “That’s you, ain’t it? We don’t get much chance to be living it up in a fancy place like this, so I did a bit of digging. Turns out, my pals couldn’t trace back exactly who owned this hotel, they sure do a lot of conversions to yen. You guys suggested this place, and I can put two and two together.”

 _Breathe. Hold. Exhale._ Hanzo withdrew his hand and graciously motioned to the armchair next to the desk. When the other man sat down, he regarded the cowboy seriously for the first time, still startled by the revelation. Whatever sort of man this Jesse McCree was, he had the mettle (or perhaps the foolishness) to follow his leader right into enemy territory, and then to have a tipple in front of the Shimada heir. The American was a year younger than himself, but taller, with eyes and hair the color of bark on a sapling. Up close, he was a strange, scruffy creature, not quite thug, not quite businessman, and definitely not quite anything Hanzo had ever dealt with before. “You came here anyways.”

“For a big deal like this, it’s worth the risk. We knew what we were walking into.”

“Octaviana sent you here to tell me that?”

McCree grinned. “Nope! Octaviana ain’t the boss of me,” he bragged. “Came here myself. And I told you, I just wanted to say hi.”

“I see.” Hanzo paused, waiting for him to continue. Feeling disoriented, he tried to sort his thoughts on the matter of business. So McCree did come here to greet him as a future leader, after all. “What else do you have to say?” he coaxed.

Instead of replying, McCree dug his boots into the carpet, and lazily tugged his chair towards Hanzo. _Thump._ Half a meter closer, leaving an uneven trail.

“What are you doing?” Hanzo strained, suddenly aware of his fingers digging into the office chair. He loosened his grip, feeling like a spring wound too tight. _Why was that man coming near him?_

 _Thump._ The cowboy was just a foot away.

Hanzo flexed his hands, ready to strike. When he swallowed, he could feel the pulse in his throat, despite the fact that to his practiced eye, nothing about McCree appeared aggressive. If anything, his approach was more rude and awkward than threatening.

 _Thud._ A final pull, and the chairs were next to each other, arm-to-arm like seats in a movie theater. McCree’s plaid sleeve rolled over onto Hanzo’s side of the divide. “Well, Shimada…”

Hanzo’s whole body tensed up. He inhaled deeply, trying to relax, but the air buzzed in his ears like loose silk fibers. Even his face felt like it had lost its fine control. The cowboy was sitting too close; his presence was too existent, blocking out swathes and spaces in Hanzo’s awareness. “What?”

“-what your plans are, but y’can’t be doing business the whole time. I mean, there’s an ATV range out there-“

If he were to shift his gaze just to his left, he would see McCree up close. Every stray hair, the pores below his cheekbones, the slick of day-long oil over his red-dust skin, even the gold corona around his irises. Hanzo tried to focus on McCree’s words. “I see,” he replied, out of habit. “You may take up your questions with the hospitality department. I have no concern with this matter.”

To his surprise, McCree looked a bit crestfallen. “Yeah, I didn’t think so.”

Hanzo continued watching him, until the cowboy finally stood up.

“Well. Nice meeting you in person, Mr. Shimada,” he ventured, extending a hand.

It was a simple gesture, but Hanzo felt a breath of relief at something so familiar- something he actually knew. He stood up as well, and clasped McCree’s hand. “Mr. McCree-“ The cowboy’s palm was sweaty and sticky, but underneath that disgusting film his hands were calloused and hot, and something about that hand warmed Hanzo from the inside. The sensation- it was _pleasant_. Hanzo drew back quicker than polite, confusion shaking on his face faster than he could wrangle his expression under control.

That did it for McCree, though. Before Hanzo could apologize, the cowboy gave a too-bright smile and slapped his hat back on his head. “Night, Mr. Shimada,” he said, a bit more quietly. “See you next meeting.”

Before he could call Atsuko to open the door, McCree was gone, his spurs jingling off into silence. Hanzo looked down at his hand, wiggling his fingers experimentally. There was nothing different about them. He sniffed at his fingers, at the nervous sweat left from the American man’s palm, before getting up to wash his hands.

He had more important business to take care of, anyways.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to fancytrash and kuween for beta-reading this! Much appreciated!

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, my multichapter McHanzo fic. Thanks to Kuween and goose for beta-ing this chapter! If you're interested, I always need someone to look over my stuff. Shoot me a message, I'd appreciate the help! 
> 
> Anyways, obligatory exposition chapter 1. But it's nonstop McHanzo action from here on- so thanks for tiding this one through.


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